We weren't in my condo three seconds before Fox pounced on me, his mouth clamping over mine. Startled, I dropped my briefcase to the floor as I suddenly found myself with an armful of very excited Mulder. While his hands worked to rid me of my trench coat, his lips were busy making a full introduction to mine.

I tensed under the unexpected attack. This was nothing like the gentle kiss we had shared in the car. This was wild and passionate and out of control, and when I felt his tongue licking against my lower lip, I knew I was in way over my head. I pulled away, wrenching my mouth from his. 

He immediately began to apologize. "I'm sorry, Walter. I thought. . .after what happened in the car. . . I thought this is what you wanted."

At his stricken, disappointed look, I scrambled to justify my actions. "Mulder, it's not you," I assured him. "It's just I never. . . this is all new to me. I've never done this. . .I mean, with a guy. I've wanted to. . . that is. . . I've thought about it sometimes. . . late at night. . ."

"With me?" he asked, shyly.

Late at night, when you're lying in bed during that weird spectrum of time between awake and asleep, thoughts come to you – they drift through your mind, and you're powerless to stop them. I'd had nights like that. Nights I would lay there and think about Mulder, having thoughts that would disappear in the light of day. I never acknowledged them, never analyzed them. Could I confess them to him now? As he had confessed his feelings about me, to me? I opened my mouth, expecting no sound to come out. Instead, I found myself shamefacedly admitting, "Ye. . . yeah."

"Well, bi-curious is a step in the right direction," he reasoned.

"Do I have to remind you that curiosity killed the cat, Mulder?"

He shot me a smirk and a cheeky, "It hasn't managed to kill ME yet."

"It's come damn close on more than one occasion, though," I replied, dryly.

Taking my face between his hands, he spoke seriously and soothingly, "Listen, Walter--I've been there, okay? I know what you're going through."

I gave a short laugh, even as my body shivered at his touch. "How could you know what I'm going through?"

"His name was Jules, like Jules Verne? He had short black hair and deep blue eyes." Mulder got a distant look on his face and he smiled sadly as he stroked my cheek. "I was 17, my freshman year at Oxford. Jules was my roommate, and my only friend. I had feelings for him I never had before, yearnings and desires that scared the crap out of me. For a long time I ran away from them. Then, one day, I got sick of running, so I stopped and stared down those fears. And I was so glad I did."

I found myself falling under the spell of his low, modulated speech, and the feel of his fingers gently caressing my face. "I can't believe in all the years I've known you I never suspected you were gay."

"I never said I was," he quickly corrected me. "I'm an equal opportunity employer." At my perplexed look, he elaborated, "I'm bi, Walter."

"Oh." Well, what would YOU say?

"I've had my share of women," he continued. "In fact, I haven't been with a guy since right before Quantico."

I brought my hands up and covered his, stilling them. "You can just shut it down like that?"

His sparkling hazel eyes gazed into mine, smiling at me. "Well, I still looked, if that's what you mean. But I never acted on the impulse. Too dangerous--I had enough strikes against me at the Bureau. I wasn't about to give them something else to hang me with."

I shook my head in amusement. "Mulder, I can't believe we're having this conversation in the foyer of my apartment."

"It is sorta Twilight Zone-ish, huh?" he smirked.

"So, actually, it shouldn't surprise me, right?" I deadpanned.

"Walter, Walter, Walter--I just can't get used to this sense of humor from you."

"Well, I tend to crack jokes when I'm scared."

His hands dropped away from my face, and I mourned their loss. "You're scared? Right now? Of me?" he asked incredulously, a hint of something vulnerable in his eyes.

"Not you exactly. It's just scary to find out something you didn't know about yourself, you know?"

He nodded in understanding. "Yeah, I know."

"I mean, I'm 50 years old. I should know everything there is to know about myself by now. To think there are things still left to discover. . .it's kind of frightening, you know?"

The hands were back, cupping my face with more tenderness than I would have expected from Mulder--or any man, for that matter. "I'm here, Walter, and I can help. It'll be fun to help you discover these different aspects of yourself and open up brave new worlds for you." He gave me a shy little grin, and I felt my stomach hit my knees at the sparkle in his eyes. "Look, I won't lie. I want you, like I've never wanted anyone in my life. But I can wait. We'll take this slow and easy--no pressure. Take as much time as you want. And if you're never ready for this, well. . .I'd rather not think about that, okay?"

I was drowning in his beautiful, hopeful eyes--Fox Mulder really has the most incredibly expressive eyes. And truthfully, I wanted it as badly as he did, but something was holding me back, something I was afraid of facing. "I'm. . . not sure," I whispered hesitantly.

He nodded a sad, imperceptible nod, his hands slipping slowly from my cheeks until they fell away completely. "Do you want me to leave?" he asked, softly.

<Is that what I want? It would certainly make it easier. Just let him walk through the door and forget this conversation ever happened. But can I forget it? Or more importantly, do I WANT to forget it?> "No, I just. . . can I get you something to drink?" I chuckled nervously. "Lord knows I could use one."

"Sounds good," he smiled wanly, shrugging off his leather jacket and hanging it on the coat rack. "Got vodka?"

"No. Scotch," I answered, removing my own trench coat and hanging it next to his.

"Soda?"

"Water," I threw over my shoulder on my way to the wet-bar.

"You're not a very good host," he joked.

"You're not a very good guest," I shot back, feeling a bit calmer now that I had put some distance between us.

As I was mixing the drinks I heard a surprised, "Shit, it's true!" I looked back over my shoulder to see Mulder was bent over, staring into his fish tank. He glanced up and when he saw me gazing at him, he flashed a big smile. "I didn't believe it when the Gunmen told me you had it."

"Well, Scully took it over for a while, but she had William to worry about, and I just. . ." I let the sentence die out. What was I going to say? That I felt closer to him with them around? That was just too weird to confess. 

"Wow! This one's new," he noticed, pointing at a stunning scarlet tropical fish with large flowing gossamer fins. "It's beautiful!"

"Yeah. I went to pick up some food at the pet store one day and saw her swimming around in one of the tanks. I knew I had to have her. Named her Scully." 

Mulder laughed, and I found myself growing warm inside from the sound. "I can see that. Red and graceful and unique. Probably deadly too, huh?"

"Well, I have noticed a couple of the smaller mollies are missing. Who knows what happened to them?" 

He returned his attention to the tank and grinned as he pointed to yet another new acquisition in the tank.   "And let me guess--that serious sulking sonuvabitch in the back is named Mulder, right?" 

"How'd you guess?" I handed him his drink and gestured towards the couch. "Have a seat?"

He glanced at the sofa then back at me with a quirked eyebrow. Shit. I didn't need a psyche degree from Oxford to know I had just given away some subconscious desire. I mean, I could have pointed to any of the chairs in the room. No, I had to point to the one piece of furniture we could share, right? Aw, jeez, I wasn't up to this. I couldn't keep up with someone like Mulder. Then again, who on this planet--or any other--was 'like Mulder'? 

I'll give him credit, though. He didn't say a word – he simply took his seat and looked up at me expectantly, almost challenging me. Well, Walter Sergei Skinner has never backed down from a dare before, so I took a seat beside him. Again, he didn't say a word, but I could see the look of triumph in his face. Hoping to distract him--and myself--from our current predicament, I asked, "You wanna watch some TV?"

"Sure. What's on?"

"Basketball playoffs?"

"Eh, who cares? My Knicks sucked dead monkey parts this year. Didn't even get a sniff of the postseason."

"Baseball then?" I suggested.

"Not really in the mood for sports, actually."

"Okay, you choose." And I handed him the remote. Bad move. We ended up somewhere in the 200's watching an old Godzilla movie. Leave it to Mulder. And as we sipped our drinks in silence, I found myself flashing on life with him--an endless stream of ashtrays overflowing with sunflower seed hulls, pencils lodged in the ceiling, clutter strewn around the place, and cheesy sci-fi movies.

Why the hell was I thinking such things? And why didn't it all sound as bad as it should? <I'm losing it. No doubt about it. I'm completely losing it.>

So we sat and drank our drinks and watched that horrifically bad rubber-monster movie and I was having such a good time in spite of myself that I barely noticed when Mulder rested his hand on my right thigh, rubbing in little gentle circles. I looked down at that hand as if it were a foreign object I had never seen before, and I felt my whole body tense as it moved ever so slowly towards my crotch.

It didn't take Mulder long to realize he had made a mistake. He moved the hand away and instead gave my knee a friendly squeeze. "Slow and easy," he repeated. "We'll take this slow and easy, okay?" I gave a sharp nod, not sure what I wanted. I was so confused. 

He seemed to sense my distress because the next thing I knew, he was jumping to his feet and rambling, "Do you know what we need? Popcorn. Godzilla movies don't work without popcorn. Got any microwave stuff? I'll go check." And before I could answer him, he was already on his way to the kitchen.

After a moment, my mind cleared enough to yell, "Last cupboard on the right."

"Found it," came the reply, and a couple of minutes later, the smell of fresh popcorn was wafting through the place. He returned a few minutes after that carrying a big bowl of popcorn and a couple bottles of Bass Ale. "Imported beer?" he teased, handing me the bowl and one of the open bottles. "You're full of surprises, Walt." I cringed at his use of that name, but I don't think he noticed, as he sat back down and immediately dug into the bowl.

I sat there, holding the popcorn in my lap and the beer bottle in my right hand, more confused than I had ever been in my life. There were things building within me, feelings and desires I had never entertained before. Or maybe they had been there forever and I just didn't know--or didn't want to know. As Godzilla went about his job of stopping on little plastic cars and cardboard houses, I whispered, "Why?"

"Hmmmm," he muttered distractedly, munching on some popcorn. "I suppose that in post-Fat Man/Little Boy Japan in the 1950's, fear and ignorance was prevalent as to exactly how nuclear fallout would affect the natural world, spawning a host of evil animal mutants whose lives were dramatically altered by radiation. Or, in fact, that's the way they saw the United States, as a huge immoral monster that could come in and destroy their cities and kill their citizens at a moment's notice. It is interesting to note that in future movies, many of these monsters in fact tend to SAVE Japan, from even nastier creatures. This is most obvious in the movie. . ."

"No, Mulder," I jumped in, cutting him off in mid-sentence. "I meant, why me?"

"Why me, what?"

I heaved a deep sigh. "Of all the guys who have crossed your path, why suddenly these feelings for me?"

"I told you--it wasn't sudden. I've felt this way for a long time now."

"I know, but why me?" I all but pleaded, needing to understand what was going on. Maybe if I knew Mulder's reasons, I could make sense of my own conflicting emotions. 

He stopped chewing and swallowed slowly. Glancing over at me, he explained, "I guess it's because you believed in me when no one else did. Reluctantly, sure, but you came to believe in me and my work."

"So did Scully."

"Yes, she did. But there's something about you, Walter. There's ALWAYS been something about you that drew me to you, even when I didn't want to, when I wanted to hate you and mistrust you."

"You had every reason to mistrust me, Mulder," I muttered. "I hurt you, lied to you, and betrayed you more times than I like to remember."

"Not through any choice of your own," he rationalized, still sticking up for me. "You were a pawn, Walter. Just like me and Scully. You did what you had to do."

"But at what cost?" I demanded. "How many times were you and Scully put in danger because of me and my actions?"

"And how many times did you save us?" he shot right back. 

"That doesn't matter."

"Bullshit it doesn't matter. That was the real Walter Skinner--the man who risked everything to protect us. That was the man I believed in, the man that I fell in love with."

"Oh, God!" I groaned softly. I could NOT get used to him saying that.

He took a sip of his beer, then smirked, "Either that, or it's because you remind me of Captain Picard." 

"Who?"

"Star Trek--The Next Generation." I just stared at him blankly, so with a very convincing British accent he added, "Make it so, Number One."

I grimaced. "And that has something to do with me because. . .?"

He put his beer bottle on my coffee table, sans coaster (why didn't that surprise me?) and said, "I've always thought Patrick Stewart was hot."

<He's a lunatic! And he's in love with me. Perfect.> "And you waited nearly a whole year to tell me all this?"

"Well, I was afraid to say anything. I figured you'd knock my block off."

I placed my untouched beer next to his on the table--except mine went on a coaster. "Yet you came back and told me anyway."

He grabbed another handful of popcorn, talking in between bites. "It got to the point that I had to take the chance. The desire to be with you overshadowed my own feelings for self-preservation. I couldn't go through the rest of my life not knowing."

"Always searching for the truth, huh?" I joked, nervously.

"Always."

I looked down at the bowl of popcorn in my lap, trying to sort through all my feelings for this man. There were so many of them, all swirling around in a jumbled mess. My relationship with Mulder had always been complex to say the least, but now, I wasn't sure what was what anymore--what was up or down, black or white. I wished it could go back to the way it used to be, and yet. . .and yet I wasn't sure that's what I wanted at all. I lifted my gaze--he was watching me closely, and I could see so much affection in his eyes. It was overwhelming. "Mulder, I. . .I don't know about this," I stammered. "You can't teach an old dog new tricks, after all."

"Ohhhh, but I'd really love to try," he cooed, playfully, and I found myself again at a loss. I had never seen this side of Mulder before, and as much as it scared me to admit it, I liked it a lot. 

"So. . .why now?" I asked, still seeking answers. "Why come to me now?"

He finished off his handful of popcorn before responding. "Well, it was Billy's birthday. I definitely had to come back for that--wouldn't have missed it for the world. As for you, well, I made a promise to myself that I wouldn't confront you until I was absolutely sure I was making the right choice, for all the right reasons."

My heart was beating loudly in my chest, and I feared I had forgotten how to breathe. "And you're absolutely sure now?" I whispered.

"Never more so," he whispered back, full of conviction.

I reached over to wipe a trace of butter from the corner of his mouth, my finger involuntarily tracing over that full lower lip. He closed his eyes and sighed, and I felt it down to my soul. My fate sealed, I cupped his face with my hand, and pulled him close until I was once again kissing his sweet, pliable lips. I heard a whimper of desire, and was shocked to discover that it came from me. 

Without breaking our connection, Mulder removed the bowl of popcorn from my lap and blindly set it on the table. His one obstacle out of the way, he pressed his body against me, splaying his left hand along my waist, his right one coming to rest on my left thigh for balance. My hand slipped from his cheek, wrapping around the back of his neck and holding him to me as I ran my other hand through his silky hair. <Lucky bastard! I'd kill for hair like this!>

Learning from his earlier mistake, he kept his mouth closed as he kissed me, not attempting any fancy tongue action. I found that his lips were warm, wet, and soft--so like a woman's, yet the slight beard stubble that scratched my face told me he was all man. 

A few minutes into our lip lock, just as I was really getting into it, Mulder gently pulled away and broke the kiss. I was about to launch a protest but his lips quickly returned, first kissing my right cheek, then trailing across my chin, finally planting a butterfly kiss on my left cheek. Eyes closed, his entire concentration on his task, he moved to my left ear, sucking and nibbling on the lobe before running the tip of his tongue along the outer shell. I groaned deep in my throat, melting into the sofa cushions.

Suddenly he pulled away from me, and my eyes flew open at the shock of cold air striking the wetness he had left behind. I was about to ask if there was something wrong, but before I could, he smiled tenderly at me, his eyes sparkling bright in the light.   "These are in the way," he whispered as his hand left my thigh and reached up to carefully remove my glasses. He placed them on the coffee table next to the popcorn then asked mischievously, "Now, where were we?" 

Before I could answer, he murmured, "Oh, yes, I remember," and his mouth returned to my ear, or rather, the sensitive spot right below it. Sharp white teeth nipped at the tender skin, the sting quickly vanquished with a soothing wipe of his tongue. I threw my head back, panting, a shiver running down my spine at the sensation--it all felt so good. When was the last time someone did this to me, for me? Sadly, the answer was never. I couldn't remember anyone ever treating me like this, with such adoration and reverence. I sensed some of my initial resistance crumbling under his ministrations. My hands instinctively clasped his head, urging him to continue what he was doing, my fingers once more gliding though that silken hair.

I was so lost to his attentions that I didn't take notice as he unknotted my tie and undid the top buttons of my shirt. Only as I felt his fingers brush against the bare skin at the hollow of my throat did I become aware of what he had done, and jumped back reflexively, effectively ending our clinch. 

"Jesus, Walter! You keep this up and you're going to get a reputation as a cock-tease!" Mulder scolded, panting slightly.

"I'm sorry," I stammered, embarrassed by my reaction. "I'm just a little jumpy here."

"I gathered that," he chuckled, running a quieting hand down my chest. "Just calm down. I was only trying to make you more comfortable, that's all. Slow and easy. See?" He released one more button, easing the constriction of my shirt. "Isn't that better?"

I realized it was. "Yeah," I agreed a moment later. "Better."

"Much better," he murmured distractedly as he lowered his lips to my neck, skimming them over my Adam's apple.

"Mrs. Robinson, you're trying to seduce me, aren't you?" I chuckled nervously, as his lips gave way to teeth, my throat receiving the same little nipping treatment he had given my ear earlier.

He glanced up at me and smirked. "Is it working?"

I didn't bother to answer verbally. Instead I took his face between my hands and brought his mouth down on mine, relishing the sensation of kissing him once more. Feeling brave, I licked cautiously at his full lower lip, and except for a soft moan, he remained silent. True to his word, he allowed me to take the lead and move at my own pace. Slow and easy. With slightly more confidence, I pressed my tongue against his lips, prying them gently apart.

Another moan, louder this time, and I felt his mouth open to me. There was no turning back now. Holding his head steady, threading my fingers through his luxurious hair, I tentatively slipped my tongue between his lips. Instantly, I felt his own tongue swirl and twist around mine, grabbing at it, inviting me in, pulling me in. I could taste the beer and popcorn he had consumed and a groan of desire echoed from within me. This was it--the reality of a hundred unformed, half-acknowledged dreams. I was kissing a man--I was kissing Fox Mulder. And it was good.

Really fucking good.

The kiss seemed to go on forever, and during those long fantastic minutes, I made an interesting discovery: Mulder is one helluva kisser. I can only hope I gave him just as much satisfaction--I suppose I did, if those pathetic little whimpers he kept making were any indication. When lack of oxygen became a serious concern for us both, I eased my mouth away from his, and set out on the same reconnaissance mission he performed on me--thoroughly covering his cheeks, chin, neck, and ears with tiny kisses. The whimpers morphed into something I can only describe as mewing, so I knew I was doing something right.

"I haven't done anything like this since the Senior Prom," I mumbled in his ear.

"Really?" he replied, breathlessly. "What was his name?"

"You are such a smart-ass, Mulder," I growled, taking possession of his mouth once more.

Who knows how long we went like that, making out on the couch like a couple of teenagers? At one point, he crawled into my lap, straddling my legs. It made everything easier, and certainly more comfortable, but feeling his erection pressing against my stomach was more than a little intimidating. However, it wasn't so menacing as to make me quit. Instead, I reached around and cupped Mulder's ass in my hands, pulling him even tighter into me. My actions caused his butt to align almost perfectly with my own raging hard-on, and I gasped at how good it felt. Long curious fingers ran through my thinning hair and over my bare, sensitive scalp. More mewing, and he started humping himself against me. <Oh, shit! If he keeps this up much longer, I'm going to shoot off in my pants!>

Things were spiraling out of control. My brain was in danger of short-circuiting from the pleasure. But just as it appeared that I was going to have a serious dry-cleaning issue, Mulder abruptly jerked back away from me. "Problem?" I asked concerned, worried I had done something wrong.

He blushed, dropping his eyes and looking away. "I. . .uh. . .I really gotta take a leak, Walter," he announced, sheepishly. "Sorry."

Still gulping for breath, I started to laugh. Figures. Just when he got me where he wanted me. "No problem. Upstairs, first door on the right."

"Thanks. Wait for me." 

"Don't be long." He gave me one final quick kiss, then jumped off the couch and walked/ran across the room and up the stairs. God, he's got a nice ass. Why hadn't I ever noticed before? Or had I noticed, and never wanted to admit that I noticed?

<Oh, man, I have a headache. And it's got Fox Mulder written all over it.>

I looked over at the TV--another Godzilla movie. Or maybe it was the same one. Hard to tell one man in a rubber monster suit movie from another. I thought about changing the channel, but when I saw the remote was way over on the other end table, I figured fuck it. I was too tired and too comfortable to move. So I stayed put and waited for Mulder, closing my tired aching eyes for just a moment, listening to the sounds of Godzilla conquering Japan. . .just as Fox had conquered me.

MULDER:

Dammit! Dammit! Oh, shit! Have you ever tried to piss with a world-class hard-on happening? Jesus Christ, I feel like my bladder is going to burst, but I can't get the damn thing to go down. Fuck me! 

Okay, think bad thoughts. That picture of Janet Reno that Skinner had hanging in his office all those years. Yeah, that's good place to start--not good enough, though. Who was that other broad--oh, yeah--Linda Tripp.  Oh, baby--yikes! That's it, that works. Linda and Hillary and Monica--the evil triumvirate. In the Oval Office, kneeling under Bill's desk. Skinner's got a nice desk. Always wondered what it would be like to. . . 

Oh, BRILLIANT, Spooky! Now I'm harder than before. SHIT! Okay. Bring in the heavy artillery. Rosie O'Donnell. Ewwwww. That's it. That's the ticket. And what about Rosanne Barr or Arnold or whatever her name is in a spandex mini-skirt? Good boy. Okay. I'm getting there. Throw in some Kathie Lee Gifford and. . .

AH! I've got it! Mama Peacock. In a string bikini! AHHHH! I'm melting, I'm melting! FINALLY! Ohhhhhh, yeahhhhh. . .

Once I'm done draining the snake, I wash my hands and run my wet fingers through my hair. Checking out my appearance in the mirror over the sink, I notice my lips are red and puffy from Walter's enthusiastic attentions. And what's that strange thing my mouth seems to be doing? Oh, yeah. Smiling. I've got a big fucking dopey smile splashed across my face just thinking about Walter. Beautiful, sexy, Walter Skinner.

Shit, I've got it bad!

I can still feel his mouth on mine, his sweet lips trailing down my neck, his very talented tongue mapping the inside of my mouth. It may have taken him a while to get into the groove, but goddamn, what a kisser! I don't think I've ever had so much fun just necking with someone, not even as a teenager. Hell, I can't remember the last time I made out with someone, period. As you get older, the kissing and dry humping is just the prelude to the fucking. End of story. But being held in Walter's strong embrace for the last half-hour or so playing tonsil hockey was one of the hottest experiences of my life.

<Oh, good going, Mulder--your boner's back. Hmmm. . .wonder if Walter will do something about it?>

No, I meant what I said. I won't rush him. As badly as I want him, I won't risk pushing him too hard, pressuring him into something he's not ready for. Anticipation, delayed satisfaction. The words quickly become my mantra. I want Walter as hot for me as I am for him. Only then will I take him to bed and shag him senseless.

I've waited a long time for this. Oh, not just confronting Walter with my feelings for him, but the sense of worth that allowed me to do it. For as long as I can remember, I never felt worthy. Despite my accomplishments and praise from my superiors (mixed in with a healthy dose of censure for my methods), I couldn't see it in myself. All I ever saw was failure. Failure to protect Scully, and then Skinner, from the forces that were hell-bent on destroying me. Failure to be a good son to my parents. Failure at not being able to save Jeffrey and Diana and even Krycek--not just their lives, but their souls. Melissa Scully and Dad, Deep Throat and X--their blood was on my hands because I wouldn't give in, wouldn't stop the hunt. Wouldn't stop searching for 'the truth'.

And my ultimate failure--not stopping my sister from being abducted. 

I've lived with that pain for nearly 30 years now. Not a day goes by that I don't think of her. For 20 of those years I have searched for her, using any means available to me, tracking down every lead, seeking every avenue possible. And in the end, it was all for naught. My little sister was dead, and had been for almost as long as I had been searching for her. 

But my quest didn't end. Once I knew what had happened to her, I was determined to do the only thing I could still do for her--give her a proper burial. I could do nothing less for her.

It was hard to leave Scully and William, but it was something I had to do. I owed it to Sam, and I knew I'd never be able to move on with my life until I had given it my all. And there was another issue I had to resolve before I could 'move on'--I had to figure out whom I wanted to share my future with.

I had always admired Scully. She was one helluva woman. Smart and sexy and quirky and sweet--so much to love. And I did love her--DO love her. I knew she'd make a wonderful life-partner, someone who could deal with me and my very eccentric idiosyncrasies. But something didn't feel right when I thought of her that way. Something, or someone, kept invading my little suburban fantasies--namely one AD Walter Sergei Skinner. 

My complex relationship with Mr. Skinner went back many years, since my time with the VCU. He supervised a couple of my early cases, brought in when the SAC's were slacking off. I was immediately struck by his poise, his no-nonsense demeanor, his take-charge and damn the torpedoes approach, his broad chest and tight ass, that stern face with the softest brown eyes and such kissable lips. Oh, yeah, and let's not forget that sexy growl in his voice, the one that made most men's knees knock, but just made mine weak.

So make no mistake about it--my attraction for the honorable Assistant Director is nothing new. I've been lusting in my heart for a long time now. I admired him and hated him and trusted him and suspected him and put my life in his hands, all at different turns. Complex relationship, indeed.

And so, as they say, 'Aye, there's the rub'. While I saw a future with Scully as little picket fences and PTA meetings and meatloaf on Sundays and tender nurturing, I saw a future with Skinner that involved more primitive and sweatier activities. Not that I only thought about Walter in sexual terms--he was also intelligent and interesting and strong, both in body and personality. I felt. . . safe. . .with him, a commodity I've had very rarely in my life.

Of course, there was the almost sure-shot guarantee that Skinner didn't feel the same way towards me. In fact, it was more than likely that he didn't 'go' that way at all. He had never given any hint that he might swing from both sides of the plate, although I must admit that his ex-wife's comment that I was one of the few people from work he ever talked about made my hopes soar. Still, it would be risky to approach him, and I had to decide if it was worth it.

So many decisions, and so many distractions. If I was going to do this right, I had to do it alone. I knew if I told Scully about my plans to search for Sam, she'd want to come along and help out. And I couldn't have that, couldn't have her and Billy with me all the time, not if I wanted to think everything through. Not only would their presence have been distracting, but I would have been too worried about keeping them safe to concentrate on my mission. The only option open to me was to go off on my own. I could search for Samantha, and I'd be able to sort through all my feelings.

When Scully wrote to me and said she had married Frohike, well, I was stunned. Hmmm. . . THAT'S an understatement! I remember a time when Scul was freaked out being in the same room as Mel, her opinion of him rather on the low end of the scale. Things had changed quite a bit between them after her abduction, though. The flirting continued from Frohike's side but it was more friendly than suggestive; as for Scully, she grew warmer towards all the Gunmen, but especially towards Mel.  When I was returned from my own abduction, it was obvious how close they had gotten. I learned from Scully that the Gunmen had been watching out for her, giving her emotional support when she needed it, and I would always be grateful to them for that.

Still, it was a far cry from that to wedding bells. After seeing her and Frohike together, though, I knew they belonged together. And on a more selfish note, it made the decision I had reached that much easier to accept.

You see, I had chosen Skinner over Scully. It was a hard decision, and even after I had made my choice, I still waffled back and forth, anxious that I was making a mistake. But when I'd lie in bed at night during all those months on the road, my thoughts inevitably drifted towards Walter. I'd imagine him beside me, cradling me in those strong arms, my head resting on that broad chest. I'd hear his deep voice, booming even when he whispered sweet nothings in my ear, and I'd see those dark gentle eyes, gazing at me with undisguised love. And those happy thoughts would follow me into restful slumber. . .not to mention some fantastic sessions with my right hand.

And we're on the right track, so far. I mean, he didn't punch my lights out when I told him how I felt about him. And HE made the first move in the car. Yeah, he might be new to this, but he's curious, and that's a good thing. I feel a laugh bubbling up as I recall the shocked look on his face in the restaurant when I said, "I love you". Ol' Poker-faced Skinner didn't know WHAT to do. And my smile grows bigger as I remember the soft tenderness in those deep brown eyes gazing at me across the couch--and the way those eyes darkened with passion when he tentatively pulled me close, pressing his lips to mine.

Oh, and the growls.  Let's not forget them. Walter makes these sounds, somewhere between a purr and a lion's roar that rumbles in the back of his throat when he gets excited. And that was just from having me sit in his lap. I want to find out what other sounds he makes--when he's aroused, when he's getting a hummer, when he's making the sign of the two-backed armadillo.

Crap! I'm so hard now, I could cut glass!

Trying one more time to wipe the imbecilic smile off my face--and failing miserably--I smooth down my sweater and head back downstairs. 

But apparently I was gone much longer than I thought, and now I'm paying for it.   As I wander back into the living room, I find Walter sound asleep, dead to the world. The sight, as endearing and sweet as it is, immediately deflates my ardor, if you get my meaning. I can't help but laugh to myself--the curse of kissus interruptus strikes again. I have the worst fucking luck!

I watch him for a couple of minutes, hoping he'll wake up, but as the seconds pass, that's looking more and more unlikely. Poor guy must've really been tired--and it'd be shitty of me to wake him up. Stepping closer to him, I carefully cover him with a blanket that's draped over the back of the sofa. I pick up the remote to shut off the TV, then realize the sudden absence of sound may make him jump awake, so I just lower the volume instead to prevent the extra-loud commercials from disturbing him.

<Now what to do?> I briefly consider joining him on the couch, but again, I'm afraid of waking him. I think about calling a cab, but decide against it. I don't care so much about the cost of the ride--which would be pricey--but I'm simply not in the mood to deal with the Hoover parking garage at 11:00 at night. That garage holds a lot of bad memories; I could see it in Walter's eyes when we had walked out to his car he feels the same way. The specter of Krycek is definitely still haunting both of us, even a year later. 

Weighing all my options, I decide to catch a catnap myself. I had seen a bedroom upstairs near the bathroom that looked promising. Heading back up the stairs, I enter the room, strip off my shirt and jeans, and flop on the bed.

I instantly know it's *his* room. The sheets and pillows smell of him. I don't know whether to cry or get a hard-on.

So many months I have dreamed of this night, fantasized about this night, but it has gone so far beyond my expectation. I couldn't have scripted it better if I had tried.   Well actually, I could have. In a perfect world, Walter would be up here, too, fucking my brains out. 

And with those happy thoughts to keep me company, I curl up with his spare pillow and fall asleep.

CONCLUDED WITH NEXT ENTRY